


He Awoke -- And Smiled

by SherKat



Series: After the Exile [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Gen, PTSD Sherlock, Sherlock Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-07 17:46:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19474207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherKat/pseuds/SherKat
Summary: Smiling? Why was he smiling?





	1. Chapter 1

He awoke – and smiled.

_Smiling?_ Why was he smiling? Oh, the good, warm man was still next to him. Still holding his hand. Asleep with his head on the bed. A wave of feelings comes over him: comfort / warmth / peace / happiness / safety / relief / love /

_LOVE?!?_ Where on earth did THAT come from?? He doesn’t _love_ , he doesn’t even _like_ , and certainly nobody has ever loved _him_. He has always been the outcast, the hated, the mocked, the bullied.

The lonely.

But this man. This man is Love. He searches down deeply inside of himself. Yes, what he feels for this man is affection, friendship, devotion, sentiment, protection, security, belonging, loyalty… He scoffs to himself, _When did I become a walking thesaurus?_

He truly loves this man. He would do anything, sacrifice himself willingly over and over for the sake of this man. He smiles.

A little voice inside his head says, _What if he doesn’t love you back?_

Well, shit.


	2. Chapter 2

The man stirred. He was waking. He smiled and said, in English, “Good morning!”

_ENGLISH!_ No, no, nononononono! Not him, please not _HIM_ , he can’t be one of them, he just can’t, not now that he realized his feelings for this man, pleasedeargodNO!

Hands were holding him as the man said, in Pashto this time, “Sorry, sorry, I forgot, it’s me, it’s alright, please lie back, you’re safe, I’m sorry.” He lay back in the bed, trying to control his breathing and ease the panic, staring wildly into the man’s eyes, looking for any sign of deception, and thankfully finding none.

“Sorry about that,” the man smiled, guiltily. “Now that we’re both wide awake, how are you feeling?”

“Confused,” he answered.

“Do you know where you are?” asked the man.

“Hospital.”

The man rolled his eyes at him _[amusing / familiar, why is that familiar?]_ and said, “Of course, smartarse, but where is the hospital? Do you know?”

He thought for a bit, glanced around the room _[typical hospital, typical ugly décor, typical horribly annoying fluorescent lights, typical beeping machinery, typical antiseptic stench]_ and shook his head.

“You’re in London. You’re home.”

He looked at the man in silence, eyes narrowed as he tried to read any sign of falsehood. He was puzzled. _[puzzled? He likes puzzles … FOCUS!]_

“You don’t believe me,” said the man. “You always said that I was a terrible liar, so go ahead, look as deeply as you can, and see if I am lying to you.”

He did just that, studying the man as much as his growing headache would allow. He found no signs of fraud or trickery, just sadness / trepidation / hope / affection / warm jumpers / cozy fireplaces / tea / FOCUS!

He shook his head, slowly, as it was beginning to throb, and said, “You are not lying, you believe that what you say is true, but I cannot believe it to be so. How can I reconcile this, it doesn’t make sense, how can this be?” His headache was truly beginning to annoy him.

The man laid his hand gently upon his arm and said, “Don’t push it now, it’s not that important.”

“You’re important,” he said, sitting up suddenly. “You are very important, you … you mean very much to me.” He looked closely at the man, trying to remember who and why and just what exactly.

The man smiled, but a bit sadly. “You mean very much to me, too.”

Suddenly it clicked in his mind. The longing looks, the sadness, the feelings. “OH! Oh, my God, am I your ex? How horribly awkward, I am so sorry, I don’t know what … I mean I … “

“NO!” said the man, firmly. “We were never a couple.”

He tilted his head to the side, frowned, and studied the man from head to toe and back again. “Are you sure? Did we want to be?”

The man looked down at the floor, nervously fiddling with his sleeve. “We, um, we never really got to the point of even discussing it. Life kind of kept, you know, getting in the way.”

He wanted the man to look at him, he needed to see into his eyes to try to determine what the man was feeling towards him. Whether it was mutual, or just folly on his part. “I'm sorry. Not good?” _[not good? not good, why is that familiar?]_

The man huffed out a small chuckle. “A bit not good, yeah.”

Images, flashes, a different room, this same man, “Not good?” “A bit not good, yeah.” Circling, spinning, other images, more sights, sounds, running, pain, nighttime, rain, rooftops, laughter, gunshots, flashes of white, chlorine, gunpowder, cocaine, blood, running, spinning, white pain, red pain [NO! not the red pain!] flashing white, red, black, white, whiter white, supernova white, excruciating pain, pain painpainPAINPAINPAIN…

P A I N ….

P A I N ….

He awoke … as Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
